**Diary Entry**
Its been nearly six months since the wedding when we finally decided to visit my parents. I knew it would be a challenge, but I never imagined how harsh it would be. The moment we stepped through the door, Mum greeted us with an icy stare and words that sent a chill down my spine: “This is a working house, not a holiday.” Her tone carried a threat, as though we hadnt come home but walked into some sort of labour camp.
My Emilywith her soft hands and city gracesuddenly seemed as fragile as a daisy in a storm. I watched her grip my hand tightly when Mum ordered her to gut the fish. “John, shes your wife, not a maid!” I wanted to shout, but I stayed silent. Silence was safest. Every protest would only fan the flames.
Those days in the countryside turned into a nightmare. Emily worked until late, her fingers trembling from the cold as she washed dishes with well water. I saw her bite her lip to keep from crying whenever Mum accused her of laziness. “Youll never be good enough for my son!” The words echoed like a curse. And there I stood, chained by invisible ties to the land I grew up in, useless.
Our dinners were boiled potatoes and fishprepared by Emilyyet Mum never sat with us. She watched from the corner like a shadow, waiting for a mistake. At night, I heard Emily crying into her pillow. “Im sorry Im sorry for everything,” I whispered, but the words vanished into the dark.
When we got back home, I vowed to confront her. “Never speak to my wife like that again.” She just laughed. “Have you forgotten who raised you? Who fed you when you cried from hunger?” Her words cut deeper than any knife.
The next time we visited, I was ready to fight. Dad had hurt his leg, so I had to tend to the cows. Mum had given Emily wellies that rubbed her feet raw. Rain turned the fields to mud, and she stumbled after me while I stayed quietknowing any kindness from me would only invite more cruelty.
Then came the lamb. Emily couldnt stand the smell, but Mum cooked it every day on purpose. “Eat if you want to be part of this family!” she snapped when Emily pushed her plate away. I grabbed my fork, tore a piece of meat, and flung it to the floor. “Never again,” I muttered. But it was only the beginning of the war.
Now, with Emily expecting our daughter, I wont take risks. “Come alone if you want,” I told Mum over the phone. “But she stays here.” Her silence held an ocean of resentment, but for the first time, my heart was steady. I held Emily close, her warm hands a reminder: sometimes, you have to protect your family even from those who gave you life.
P.S. When Mum called again, I turned off the phone. It hurt us both. But sometimes, pain is the only way to wake up.
